


sorry about the blood in your mouth (i wish it was mine)

by pelvicbones



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22414315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pelvicbones/pseuds/pelvicbones
Summary: Three days before, she was whispering into that skin how much she loved it, how much she loved him. Three days ago, he was on the precipice of tears when he said, "You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear those words."/The many deaths of Bellamy Blake.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	sorry about the blood in your mouth (i wish it was mine)

**Author's Note:**

> i am half convinced jason and company are going to kill off bellamy in season seven so bellarke will never come to fruition, so i wrote this to hurt my own feelings.
> 
> this is completely unedited bc i drank some whiskey halfway through writing this impulsively. i promise i have fully fledged fics coming, y’all. may edit the shit out of this in two to three business days.
> 
> title from richard siken’s “little beast.” as a huge fan of this incredible poet (my first tattoo is a quote from his poem “war of the foxes”), i thought i’d include his gofundme page for his stroke recovery fund here: gofundme.com/f/sikenstrokerecovery
> 
> the lyrics quoted below are from “the end” by the doors.
> 
> pls, do not enjoy!!

* * *

_ this is the end _

_ my only friend _

_ the end _

_ of our elaborate plans, the end _

_ of everything that stands, the end _

_ no safety or surprise, the end _

_ i'll never look into your eyes again _

/

They’re in the supermarket buying groceries for dinner. Despite that they’ve been wrapped up in each other’s arms for days now, learning the new grooves and nooks of their bodies, she can’t help but bump her hip against his front when she reaches for beets. She’s made it a game. He asks her what cereal she prefers; she crosses her arms delicately enough that her breasts spill over the top of her shirt, fingers grazing her jawline as she pretends to think. She reaches for the rice on the top shelf, stretching her body until her skin is bared for him. She shimmies down, accidentally drops the box on the ground, and prepares for her final trick.

She catches his eyes, cast in shadows, and smiles. He grabs her wrist before she can continue her seduction, tightly swallows, “I’ll get it.”

He leans over to collect the rice and she’s ready for her own show.

Instead, his eyes widen. He lets out a shaky exhale and collapses right there in the international food aisle. For a few seconds, she blinks. Even laughs when she thinks it’s an elaborate joke on his end. But when she pokes his side with the tips of her toes, exposed from her sandals he had placed on her feet only an hour ago, he doesn’t get up. She stands there for a minute until people start rushing toward him. His skin is already turning paler, the freckles stark against the blue that’s settling into his darkened skin.

Two hours ago, she dug her fingernails into that flesh, head arched back against his pillows. Three days before, she was whispering into that skin how much she loved it, how much she loved him. Three days ago, he was on the precipice of tears when he said  _ you don’t know how long i’ve wanted to hear those words _ .

Now, there are strangers touching that skin, their mouths telling her  _ call an ambulance he needs a doctor oh god i think he’s already dead jesus christ _ .

Two months later after his heart broke on her, she’s in the sheets they laid in together absentmindedly watching the wallpaper peel. A talk-show host on television is screaming that it’s the end of the world, so she leans back into his pillow and waits.

/

“We’re almost there,” he whispers into her ear. The feeling of his body against hers still feels like an outline more than a corporeal being, but his voice is strong in her ear - steady. “Just keep your eyes up front, okay?”

She nods, tears leaking down her cold cheeks. She can see her breath but her skin is scorching, starting to peel under the weight of the heat. She tries to keep her pace swift, but her steps are getting more tentative the closer they reach the light at the end of the path.

It is her hesitancy that causes their downfall. He trips over her wavering foot and she instinctively moves to ensure his safety.

Her eyes widen when she realizes her mistake - wide enough that she sees every inch, every minuscule detail of the image of him being dragged backward.

/

He has her pressed against one of the dirt walls of Josephine’s favorite research outpost, fingers creeping up her shirt when she tells him her plan.

“ _ Babe _ ,” she sighs, “Listen to me. We can run to Gabriel and beg him for refuge. We’re already close,” she moans when his fingers twist a nipple, “and - and you don’t have to go through with it.”

He grins against her neck when she pushes his hands downward. Despite his piety, he likes that she’s a skeptic, says that the sin of it turns him on. What turns her on the most is his cautious acceptance and delight in her defiance toward authority. And the moles on his right ear and the little scar on his collarbone he’ll never let  _ them _ fix and the way he bites his nails down to the quick until they bleed black.

“We don’t have much time,” he says, pushing against her hips. When she stiffens at the remark, he hitches her legs around his waist in a fluid motion, brushing against her core. “Let’s enjoy this, okay?”

She doesn’t know if she should give in or fight. When she opens her mouth, he kisses her before she even knows what to say.

“I’ll love you,” he says, pushing deep inside of her. “Always.”

Two days later, while Sanctum celebrates the return of Daniel Prime, she creeps into the woods.

/

After two years stationed in the ER, she should be better at delivering bad news. For the most part, she is - but, this time, there’s a girl who looks just like her patient and she’s crying when she hears her brother is going to die.

The girl chokes out a sob, “We can’t do anything?”

She breathes in, clicking her fingernails against the clipboard, “I’m genuinely sorry. There’s nothing left that we can do.”

When his sister is gone, she walks into his room. Holds his hand, even though he probably doesn’t feel it, and says, “Your fight is over.”

A year later, she decides to abandon the medical field after twelve years fighting to be part of it.

/

She doesn’t know if she should blame her hormones, but she starts to feel like he’s hiding something from her. He’s mostly the same as he always is. He comes home, where she’s been stuck on bed rest, and immediately fawns over her. He rubs the swell of her belly in awe, rubs his fingers into the knots on her back, touches her as if she’s a deity when she rubs against him in the middle of the night.

But he never responds in complete sentences when she inquires about work, always fidgeting with something, shrugging when she asks for details. At first, she thinks he’s just being kind to her - trying to minimize the fact that the world of the Ark is going on without her while she’s regaled to the bed. Eventually, she starts to grow worried by his behavior, starts to notice that he’s lost weight, that he’s restless at night.

She snaps when he starts whimpering in his sleep.

“The crops are dying,” he says, quietly, voice cracking.

The crops he tended with her father. The ones that led to their meeting - the day she came to meet her father and found him, instead, holding an apple blossom between his fingers. Her mouth had gone dry when she saw him for the first time. He tucked one just like it in her hair when they said their vows. It had gotten crushed when he bent her low and kissed her into his wife.

She takes him into her embrace and his head lands on her swollen belly, mouth hovering over her belly button. That’s where she once got nutrition. Their baby will have one too, in that exact spot, but he’ll get to choose what it looks like.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, scratching his scalp. “I have faith you’ll bring them back.”

He starts to cry, then.

“I can’t this time.”

She begs him to eat his share. Even offers to sacrifice the life growing inside her, telling him  _ we can try again when the crops come back. it’s not too late - we haven’t reached the cut off period just yet. _ He looks at her like she’s a monster, but, still, she pleads.

He becomes bones by April.

In May, her father finds him by the apple trees.

In July, she gives birth to their child.

The first flower blooms soon after. Her baby’s chubby hands go to reach for it, but she pulls him away before he kills something else.

/

The snake is grinning when she takes a bite.

/

She’s crying so hard she can’t see which wound is causing the blood to ooze out onto the metallic table below him. She’s screaming for someone - anyone really - but no one’s coming and he’s  _ dying he’s dying he’s dying _ .

She’s swiping at her eyes desperately, moving the already soaked cloth to each of the stab wounds in hopes she’ll find the right one to seal. He’s smiling up at her in that way he always does, but his eyes are half-lidded in the wrong way and the smile is twisted only in one corner, but not the corner where it means something.

“Please don’t leave me,” she pleads. “Not now. Not when I just got you back.”

“ _ Clarke _ ,” he says, reverently, “I’ll never leave you.”

He’s still lying there, but she feels the force of his mouth on hers, feels her eyes close involuntarily close to feel the taste, the wholeness of it, the singularity of him  _ kissing _ her.

When she opens her eyes, she only sees the scattering of freckles on his nose, feels a sudden gust of wind hit her lower back. Scrambles between staying in his embrace and the need to register what’s happening.

She lands in the middle, “What’s happening?”

His fingers creep to the nape of her neck. She feels the sweat pooling there, feels the thick trail of salt between the skin of their faces. She blinks too fast, too hard in efforts to catch up, and then he’s kissing her again.

She feels Bellamy’s lazy smile form in the small distance between their mouths, “What should’ve happened a long time ago.”

**Author's Note:**

> you all thought i was gonna leave you with more tragedy?????? joke’s on you bc i am niCE.


End file.
